Monologue of a young woman: “What Went Wrong?”

I didn’t always feel this way.
There was a time I believed in the system—truly believed in it.
Get a good education, work hard, climb the ladder.
Build something.
Buy something.
Become someone.

And for a while, I did.
I watched my parents save every rupee, every dollar.
Watched them tuck their dreams into lockers and life insurance plans.
They believed the world was becoming fairer, more open, more possible.
They had that soft faith in progress—that if you did your part, the system would reward you.
And I inherited that belief like an old suit, slightly frayed at the cuffs, but still wearable.

But something cracked.
Not all at once.
Not like a storm.

More like a ceiling leak that you ignore until your books are ruined.
It began with the small things.
The unpaid internships.
The contract jobs with no benefits.
The friends who couldn’t afford therapy, rent, or even a day off.
The art I loved slowly replaced by content.
The people I admired replaced by influencers.

I looked around and thought: This isn’t what they promised us.
Capitalism, they said, would set us free.
But I don’t feel free.
I feel leased.
Rented out by the hour.

Scrolling through curated lives I cannot afford while drinking instant coffee in a flat I can barely keep.
They told us competition breeds excellence, but all I see is exhaustion.
Gig workers running on empty.
Teachers quitting.
Doctors burning out.
Writers ghostwriting slogans for brands they despise.

And what do we chase now?
Followers? Engagement? Optimization?
Even sleep has been invaded—tracked by apps and judged by its productivity.
It’s not just the money. It’s the logic of it all.
Everything must grow.
Faster.
Cheaper.
More.
Even the planet groans under it—lungs of forests burned for cattle feed, oceans choked on packaging.

But we call it “progress.”
And in boardrooms high above the smog, men in suits nod at charts—celebrating record profits, while their workers ration insulin and skip lunch.

Some say I’m bitter. Maybe I am.
But this bitterness wasn’t born in laziness.
It came from watching friends break down quietly in bathroom stalls.
From watching old shopkeepers close for good.
From watching my mother choose between medicine and milk.

I don’t want revenge. I don’t even want revolution.
I just want a world where people matter more than margins.
I want a system that lets us breathe.
That lets us raise children without anxiety gnawing through the night.
That lets an artist make a living without becoming a brand.
That lets us grow old without shame.

They say capitalism is the best we’ve got.
But best for whom?
Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe I’m romantic.
But somewhere, buried beneath the bills and burnout,
I still believe in a gentler world.
One where time is not money.
Where rest is not laziness.
Where success is not a pyramid built on the backs of others.

I don’t know how we get there.
But I know—deep in my bones—
that this isn’t it.
Not anymore.

I don’t know how we get there.
But I know—deep in my bones—
that this isn’t it.
Not anymore.